


Me, Myself, and I

by TheWolfoftheStars



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Were Both Raphael (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Fusion, Irresponsible Driving, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Wings, as per Steven Universe rules, minor mentions of alcohol, snake eyes doing The Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolfoftheStars/pseuds/TheWolfoftheStars
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale go out for a picnic one day and make a wonderful discovery. Oh, they simply *must* inform Head Office of this.





	Me, Myself, and I

It was a perfect morning, brisk and bright, watery sunlight streaming down to warm the earth for a perfect day, when Aziraphale decided to pop the question.

"Dearest, what would you say to a picnic?"

Crowley blinked owlishly, rubbing at his eyes. He'd fallen asleep at the bookshop again. That seemed to be happening more often these days, for some reason. The two of them got absolutely sloshed--well, Crowley knew _he_ got absolutely sloshed nearly every time, Aziraphale's state of inebriation was more of a coin flip--and Crowley forgot to sober up [1] and fell asleep on the sofa. And Aziraphale always got up to drape some ugly old tartan blanket over him, and clean up the bottles and the glasses, and settle into a chair with a good book or three for the night. [2] It was one of their rituals they'd taken up over the years, though it had been seeing more and more use as of late. That made Crowley antsy.

"D'ya mean, like, today?"

"Well, sure. It's such a lovely day, you know, and if I recall correctly, you do owe me a picnic..."

"...Ahh, yeah. '67, was it?"

Aziraphale nodded.

The shop fell into a heavy sort of silence.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

That had hurt, Crowley had to admit. He'd slept for three weeks straight after that. He'd avoided the angel for months. [3] Even after they'd resumed their Arrangement, there had been something uncomfortable between them after that particular incident. Like a feather out of place. Technically able to be ignored, occasionally able to be forgotten if one was drunk enough, but always there, always itching and aching to be put right. Aziraphale seemed to be planning on trying to put things right again.

Crowley, as fate would have it, was very good at determinedly ignoring his problems. [4] But try as he might, be couldn't bring himself to say no.

"Of course, angel. Got anywhere in mind?"

Aziraphale broke into a grin that looked rather more nervous than he seemed to want it to look. "Oh, I was thinking maybe Tadfield, since we did pay the place a visit recently and it's really quite lovely there..."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

\-------

[1] (or remembered, but didn't much feel like it)

[2] Crowley hadn't read them himself to verify their goodness, of course, but Aziraphale liked them, and if Aziraphale liked them then he supposed they were good books. He had no use for books in his life beyond whether or not Aziraphale liked them, really, and so to him that was a good enough way of judging the quality of books.

[3] This was another one of their rituals--they had a falling out, Crowley slept for some frankly sinful length of time, and they avoided each other for a while. Crowley didn't know what Aziraphale got up to for that while and he told himself that he didn't want to know.

[4] Though not, funny enough, his actual feathers when they got ruffled. In fact, he kept his wings immaculately groomed. Aziraphale did not, and he had no idea how the angel could stand having his wings in such disarray. More than once Crowley had needed to practically pin him down to properly preen his feathers. Aziraphale fussed and argued that this was really quite unnecessary, and Crowley would ignore his complaining, and Aziraphale thanked him afterwards, his wings were much less itchy now, and Crowley would smirk and tell him I-told-you-so.

\-------

The drive to Tadfield was uneventful--well, mostly uneventful, if one discounted the small child on a bicycle they’d nearly hit, as Crowley was not the most careful of drivers. Aziraphale miracled the child to safety and scolded Crowley, saying that he really should be less reckless, you can’t go 80 miles an hour on a small dirt road in a village, and really, there was no need to rush. Crowley, however, was nervous today, and so he did not slow down.

One haphazard parking job later, the two of them strolled through a scant copse of trees, around a pond, and up a little hill to the perfect spot for a picnic. By now, the sun had burned away the morning dew. Aziraphale laid out a blanket and went about setting out the sandwiches and snacks. Crowley flopped back onto the blanket, stretching luxuriously and yawning, feeling his anxiety melt away just a bit. "You were right, it is a lovely day. I could have a nap in the sun just here."

"You only woke up an hour ago, my dear," Aziraphale reminded him.

"True, but what kind of demon would I be if I didn't go around indulging my every sinful desire?" Crowley cracked a grin at the angel.

Aziraphale smiled too, shaking his head. "A good demon, that's what."

"Ahh, but we can't have that, now can we?"

"I thought you said none of that matters, anyways. No 'my side' or your side' anymore, and all that."

"I did! And _our_ side says I should have a nap."

He drew a little laugh out of the angel at that. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I can't argue with it."

And they spent a while like that, Aziraphale eating and Crowley napping. Well, it wasn't quite napping--he found it hard to really nap after sleeping through the night, so he spent most of the time drifting between wakefulness and rest, occasionally murmuring a reply to Aziraphale as he spoke, and at one point swallowing a sandwich whole, much to the horror and consternation of the angel. "You're meant to savor it, Crowley," he'd said after Crowley had finished snickering, "How can you really appreciate food if you wolf it down like that?"

"First off, that's snake to you, and second, I can enjoy food perfectly fine, thank you."

"Well, you don't eat much, so I could beg to differ. What is even the point of eating if all you're going to do is swallow it in the blink of an eye, really..."

"Because it bothers you, of course." Crowley gave Aziraphale his most endearing of looks.

Aziraphale only _tsk_ ed at him. "That does remind me, though, I did want to talk to you about something."

"Yeah? What's that?" Crowley felt the anxiety creeping back in, and he fought to keep his voice as casual as possible.

"Well... oh, how do I begin..." Aziraphale frowned, suddenly and determinedly avoiding meeting Crowley's gaze. "Well, I know you remember that night in'67."

"Yes." Crowley was hesitant to speak more than was necessary.

"Well, I've been doing some thinking over the last few weeks, now that Armageddon hasn't happened, and--and I realized that was perhaps the wrong thing to say to you, that night."

Crowley simply waited, every muscle tense with anticipation and very much trying not to show it.

"Because... because I think for you, it wasn't very fast at all." Aziraphale shifted closer to Crowley, almost imperceptibly so. "I think for a while I just couldn't let myself believe you'd feel like that about me. Because you're a demon, and demons aren't supposed to be able to--to feel that way about anyone. And I didn't really think it would be proper to reciprocate, because I'm an angel and we're not supposed to do that. And, truthfully, I was afraid... I didn't really think I deserved your--your companionship. But after everything that's happened, I think my excuses have run out. Like you said, we're on our own side now."

Crowley sat up as Aziraphale took his hand. "I realized that all these things holding me back, my fears, they were hurting you. And that is one thing I very much do not want to do." The angel was looking into his eyes, now, and Crowley could hardly stand their intensity. "I care for you very much, Crowley, and I don't think either of us need to repress that anymore. So... whatever it is that you want fr--" Aziraphale never got the opportunity to finish his sentence, because Crowley had hushed him with a kiss, and his mind wiped itself completely blank as his heart surged with love.

"Hey, it's okay," Crowley said as they parted. "I can go slow for you if that's what would make you happiest. That's all I want, really." He held Aziraphale's face in his hands, ever so gently, admiring the way the angel's cheeks glowed pink, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted with complete and utter adoration.

Aziraphale brought a hand up to Crowley's temple, fingers brushing against his sunglasses, a question behind the gesture. Crowley waited as the glasses slid off of his face, and the angel's gaze truly met his for the first time in quite a while. Then Aziraphale smiled. "Your eyes," he whispered, "the pupils, they've gone all big and round."

The demon chuckled. "Yeah, they do that sometimes."

"I like it." Aziraphale tilted his head. "You don't need to hide them from me, my dear. I would very much like to see all of you."

"I thought I was the one going too fast for you," Crowley teased.

"Oh, hush," Aziraphale replied, a light reprimand in his voice. "Well, perhaps someday."

Crowley raised an eyebrow but declined to comment. Instead he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, and the angel melted into the embrace.

"I do love you so, so very much, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, face pressed to the crook of his shoulder.

"I love you too, my angel." Crowley's hands crept up his back, crawled into his curly hair. Aziraphale broke into a giggle, nerves and giddiness mixed together in some unknown proportion. Crowley followed suit, and soon they were collapsed against each other, laughing like the world had begun anew. And something slotted perfectly into place in their hearts, like it was always meant to be there. And they were together, and it was the most important thing in all the universe.

\-------

They opened their eyes. They were sitting on a scratchy old tartan blanket, in a lovely meadow, on a hilltop, just outside the little village of Tadfield. The sky was just the right shade of blue, exactly the color you'd think of when you hear the phrase "sky blue", and big fluffy clouds drifted through it. 

They looked down at their hands, out of curiosity. Delicate and soft, with long fingers. They looked over their shoulder, willed their wings into existence. Four sparkling silver wings made themselves apparent, shimmering as though the stars had fallen and gotten caught in their feathers. "Oh, deary me," they said, with a voice that was light, rich with glory and joy. "Now, what's all this, then?" They miracled themself a mirror and gazed into it.

Their eyes were gold, rimmed with green about the pupil--a regular circular human pupil, not slitted like a snake's. They had a longish sort of nose that turned up at the tip, round cheeks, a pointed chin, and long hair that fell in loose curls over their shoulders, red and blonde streaked together.

They preened at the sight. "Oh, my, how lovely!" They got an impression than an angel shouldn't really be reveling in its appearance--vanity being frowned upon and all--but they found that they did not particularly care. And, truly, they did not know if they could even call themself an angel, at this point.

They flung themself back to lay in the grass, lost in pure, all-encompassing bliss. Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, pealed through the late summer air with the musicality of the angels' most ethereal choir. They were newborn, and they were older than the Earth itself. To simply exist was infinitely pleasurable. They could have lain on that hill for hours, doing nothing more.

But instead they stood, gathering up the blanket and the basket, and started strolling back towards the Bentley. "You know, I've half a mind to drop by Headquarters," they said. "I'm sure they would very much appreciate a visit."

\-------

The drive back to the bookshop was uneventful--well, mostly uneventful, if one discounted the cat they'd nearly hit, as they were not particularly good at driving. They left the car parked there and took a little walk to the entrance to Heaven.

It was an unassuming building on the outside; in fact, it was a perfectly normal office building to all but them. They only needed to walk inside and tell the receptionist they were headed to the top floor, and with a wink and a nudge the receptionist would wave them on down the hallway, and as they walked the hallway would change into something decidedly less unassuming. And that is just what they did, though the receptionist did give them a bit of a double take as they sauntered through, as he had not seen this particular angel before. But he didn't fuss, as the angel was likely some new assignment, and he never got news of those, anyways.

And then they were in Heaven. Decidedly uncomfortable place, it was. It had changed quite a bit over the years, but it always retained that particular quality of coldness and distance. But it was no matter. They didn't plan on hanging around.

They marched up to the nearest angel and, chin tipped upward with a certain righteousness, said "I would very much like to speak with Uriel and Gabriel and Michael, please."

The angel frowned. "Erm--well, they're busy, you understand--excuse me, who exactly are you?"

They grinned and moved close to the angel, and whispered a name in her ear.

She gasped and recoiled. "Oh, my goodness--I thought you--you were--"

"Tell them I've come back to say hello. I've figured a few things out."

"Yes--yes, of course--I'll just be on my way--" the angel practically ran from them.

They laughed. There was a bit of satisfaction to be had in spooking these folks, they had to admit. Though they did feel a bit bad about scaring the poor little one just now. She didn't really deserve it.

Soon enough, the Archangels arrived, eyes wide and mouths agape. Michael was the first to speak. "Dearest brother..."

Raphael spread their arms, a smile stretching over their face. "I'm back."

The four of them fell into a group hug before any of them had really processed it. A sob escaped Gabriel before he could stifle it. "God, I'm so sorry, I never wanted to--it was orders from Upstairs, I couldn't disobey--"

"I know, I know." Raphael held their siblings close, eyes drifting shut. "I've missed you all so much."

And there they stood, for a moment that lasted eons, carried the weight of millennia.

And then Raphael pushed their siblings away. "I have missed you," they said, "but that doesn't mean I can forgive you. You tore me in twain, cast half of me out of Heaven, and did your damnedest to keep those halves apart for six thousand years." The archangels winced at the curse. "I am not the brother you once knew and I never will be again. I can't be, not anymore."

Part of Raphael couldn't stand to see these faces they knew so well, so open and raw and grieving. Another part of them reveled in it. Both parts, however, knew what they were doing was right.

"You must understand, though--" Uriel leaned forward, pleading-- "You must understand why She made us do it. You were too much for Her, too capricious, She needed to keep things--well, She needed to keep things... clearly-defined--"

"I know." Raphael met her gaze unflinchingly. She glanced away. "Crowley was always going to Fall. He was made to Fall. But that doesn't heal the pain left behind. And it doesn't make me any more of an angel, any less of... whatever it is that I am now."

Gabriel blinked. "What... what exactly are you?"

"I don't know." Raphael spread their wings, silver and shining and magnificent. "But it feels fitting."

The two angels were speechless for a bit. "Well," Uriel said, "Well, I suppose it is."

"I can't stay here," Raphael murmured.

"No, I suppose you can't."

I can't hang around in Hell, either."

"No." Michael's voice quavered.

"So I think I'll stay on Earth." Raphael's voice softened. "I won't cause any serious trouble for you, I promise. Not for folks Downstairs, either."

"Well, it's... _unorthodox,_ to be sure." Gabriel shifted his feet, twiddled his thumbs. "But... you know, since when have you ever been an orthodox sort of ang--well, whatever you are?"

Raphael let out a little laugh, the kind of laugh that brightened the day of everyone around them. Their siblings smiled cautiously. "Never, brother dearest, never." Their eyes glowed with a certain gentle mischief. "I cannot, however, promise to be quiet."

Michael threw her arms around them again, hiccuping as tears seeped from her eyes. "Oh, of course, never, you could never be quiet..." She held them tight. "You'll come to visit, though? I know non-angels aren't really allowed up here but I'm sure we could make exceptions..."

"Dunno. Maybe." Raphael hung onto her as though they'd never be together again.

\-------

Raphael let themself come apart that evening, in the bookshop, and Crowley and Aziraphale sat quietly on the couch beside each other. Neither particularly felt like getting up to get something to drink, alcoholic or not. Instead, they leaned into each other, wrapped in a blanket, whispering long into the night, sharing memories of Raphael before he was Aziraphale and Crowley, refusing to let him fade. And that night, as the moon shone in through the window, there was one angel and one demon. And they were together, and they were something else entirely.


End file.
